


Drops of Gold Like Sparks

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, F/M, Foster mom!Clarke, coffee shop AU, madi is sassy and we love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: Coffee Shop AU. Whenever their apartment is too quiet, Clarke and Madi settle into a local coffee shop to catch up on work and homework. Clarke steps outside to answer a call, and Madi asks the most erudite-looking person within shouting distance for help with her history homework.It was impossible.To be this close to him, to be so fully wrapped up by him, and not touch him. Her fingers all but itched to feel his hair, count his freckles, trace his jawline, and she clenched them at her sides. “So?”“So, get dinner with me,” he said it in a rush, running a hand through his hair and hunching his back slightly so he could look at her directly. “Hell, get lunch or coffee or breakfast or drinks, anything, with me. Whenever, whatever, just something with me. Please. I have to see you again.”It was a jumble of words, a rush of them tripping over his tongue and spilling out of his mouth and Clarke had never heard such a beautiful landslide. She couldn’t help the smile that split her face and she beamed up at him. “Okay,” she said, not caring about the breathlessness on her voice.





	Drops of Gold Like Sparks

"None of the other kids at school do their homework at a coffee shop."

A backpack landed on the couch next to Clarke, and she looked up to see Madi redoing her braid, looking interestedly around the coffee shop. Clarke saved the page she was working on on her laptop—a review of one of the newest galleries in downtown Portland—before she reached down to her feet to root around for her purse.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Madi shrugged, letting go of the newly-finished braid. "Neither, I guess. Just a thing."

"Hmm." Clarke’s fingers closed around the purse, and she felt around for her wallet. Madi wasn't the first kid she'd fostered, and though they got along uncommonly well, she knew from past experience that most of the kids in the system grew restless in a quiet house. For the first couple of months, she always tried to do as much as she could in public, giving the kids the chance to get used to her, rather that feel pressured by too much alone time with her. "Would a hot chocolate switch that to the ‘good thing’ category?"

"One of those frozen drinks probably would.”

Clarke glanced through the window at the gray skies outside the coffee shop. "It's like 30 degrees outside."

"And?"

“Fair enough.” Clarke pulled a $5 bill out of her wallet, dropping it back towards the purse on the floor. “As long as there's no caffeine, go crazy."

Madi beamed at her, took the five and walked over to the counter. Clarke pretended to be absorbed in her screen, but she watched the girl over the top of it. Madi's parents had been dead for about a year before she'd been placed into Clarke's care. Clarke knew she was a poor substitute for two parents that adored their daughter, so she didn't try to be the replacement. She'd take the big sister role any day.

Madi was waiting her turn in line, studying the seasonal menu while the people in front of her ordered. Clarke couldn't hear the conversation over the acoustic covers playing over the shop's speakers, but if she was lip reading correctly, Madi had gone for some sort of cookies and cream concoction.

A couple of minutes later, Madi sank down on the couch, setting her drink on the table next to Clarke’s now-cold coffee. “I wasn’t expecting it to be pink,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the drink while she picked up her backpack to go through its contents.

“What is it?” Clarke asked hesitantly, also surprised by the bubblegum color of the frozen drink.

“It’s supposed to be cookies and cream, but I guess,” Madi paused for a moment to try to pull two of the seven folders out of her backpack in one motion, “It’s a weird sugar cookie version. For Valentine’s day, probably.”

“Yeah that’d do it...does it taste okay?”

Madi shrugged. “Like cavities.”

“Oh, great.”

“It is,” Madi said contentedly. “Rest assured, Clarke, it’s vaulted this place into the ‘good thing’ category.”

“That’s all I could ask for. What’re you working on tonight?”

“Geometry and World History.”

“Nice. Triangles again?”

“It’s the pythagorean theorem, Clarke,” Madi sighed, “Not something Blinky Palermo slapped on a canvas.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped. “And here I thought you didn’t like the Modern section this weekend,” she sang, unable to keep the smug satisfaction out of her voice.

Madi froze, realizing she’d just admitted to paying rapt attention at the gallery opening Clarke had dragged her through so she could write her review. “I still think it’s overrated,” she mumbled.

“Mmmhmm,” Clarke said in a mock-serious tone, before she let it go, “But, to be fair, I’d say the same for Pythagoras.”

Madi rolled her eyes, but she opened up her folder to begin working on problems and Clarke went back to her review. They worked in silence for a while, Clarke shooting a pointed look at Madi when she tried to slurp the remainder of the whipped cream through the straw. Madi sighed dramatically, flouncing across the coffee shop to throw away the plastic cup. When she got back, she had a contemplative look on her face.

“What is it?” Clarke asked, not looking up.

“You didn’t do anything for Valentine’s day.”

Clarke blinked, turning to find Madi’s curious eyes on her. “Um, no. I didn’t.”

“How come?”

“I guess I’m a believer in celebrating the people you care about on every day of the year, not just when the calendar tells you too.”

“So you were feeling super single.”

Clarke went back to her laptop. “I sure do now,” she muttered.

Madi huffed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re hyped up on sugar.”

“No, I,” Madi said in a grandiose voice, “am just looking out for you.”

“Back when I was your age, we called that ‘meddling’,” Clarke said, reaching for her own coffee.

“Hmm,” Madi said, unphased, “So do you have a type or what?”

Clarke took a deliberate sip of the coffee, trying for a casual and unaffected expression as she sipped the tepid drink. “Are we seriously having this conversation now?”

“I thought I’d ask,” Madi continued, ignoring her. “because I couldn’t find a lot, like, physically in common between Finn and Lexa—”

Clarke choked on the coffee, sputtering while Madi managed to look both concerned and amused. Clarke knew very little with certainty, but she was absolutely positive that she hadn’t discussed her exes with her foster child. She accepted the napkin Madi handed her, her eyes narrowing at the girl.

“Want to tell me how, and what, you know about either of them?”

Madi shrugged, truly unbothered. “Not much. Your Instagram is pretty unspecific, but the pictures are cute.”

“Since when do you have an Instagram?”

“I don’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t find yours.”

“To be fair, it’s not like I was hiding,” Clarke mumbled, setting the coffee down. “Look, if you’d wanted to talk about my exes, why didn’t you just ask?”

“I am. Now.”

“But you already creeped on my Insta.”

“And theirs too.”

“Madi!”

“Clarke,” Madi echoed, dramatically. “Okay, we’re getting distracted, we need to get back to Valentine’s Day, and your loneliness.”

“I am not lonely,” Clarke said stubbornly.  

“Sure. So, _do_ you have a type?”

“Unbelievable,” Clarke muttered.

“Does that mean you don’t have one?”

“It means I’m not about to discuss it with you.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“And you’re dodging doing your math problems,” Clarke said, and Madi made a face.

“Yeah, well, this is more interesting than geometry.”

“Maybe so. But my type—which, for the record, I wouldn’t say that I necessarily have—isn’t going to finish your homework for you.”

Madi grinned. “You said necessarily.”

Clarke bit help lip, wondering how quickly she could back track. “Did I? The point is—”

“The point is,” Madi said triumphantly, “is that while you don’t _necessarily_ have a type, you still have one. So?”

“So you figured out how adverbs work.”

“Yeah, in like fourth grade.”

“Ah, yes. Decades ago, right?”

Madi stuck out her tongue. “Look, give me like, five things okay? Then I’ll shut up about it, finish my math, and we can all be happy.”

Clarke couldn’t believe she was considering this. “Not a peep until your done with Pythagoras and his theorem?”

Madi held her hands out in front of her, doing her best impression of an ‘I’m in a box’ mime, and Clarke suppressed a smile at her antics. A nod would’ve sufficed, as would a simple, ‘my lips are sealed’ gesture, but no, Madi had to go full striped-shirt-on-the-Seine.

Clarke sighed, leaning forward to slide her laptop onto the table. “Okay. Um...I don’t know, pretty eyes. It’s cliche, but they tell you a lot about a person.”

“I think cliche is an understatement.”

“Hey, this was your idea.”

Madi shrugged, settling back into the couch. “Okay, eyes. That’s one down, four to go.”

“Glad we’re keeping a tally,” Clarke said dryly. “If we’re going with cliches, I might as well check the ‘sense of humor box’. I don’t need someone who’s cracking jokes left and right, but it’s something special when your humor clicks.”

“Oh my god,” Madi moaned. “If you say ‘open about their feelings’, I’m leaving the sofa.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Oh, come on, Clarke, I mean good stuff. Like cheekbones, arms, jawline...I don’t know, Lexa and Finn both had great hair, right? Maybe that’s a thing for you?”

“Just how much time did you spend on my insta?”

“Enough. I’m literally giving you these, come on.”

Clarke shook her head. “Okay fine. Kind eyes, solid humor, great hair...Confidence.”

Madi made a sound like her soul was exiting her body, but Clarke promptly ignored it.

“I mean,” she said pointedly, “it’s easy to be around someone who is confident in who they are. They know what they’re about; they don’t need your approval, they don’t need to impress you, but they usually end up doing just that. Bonus points if they don’t internalize it, and they draw other people out. Not saying they have to lead armies into battle, but calling out the best in other people is definitely good.”

Madi drummed her fingers on her knee. “That’s very poetic of you, and all, but your last one had better not be something you could find on a hallmark card.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, knowing she’d have to indulge Madi. “Okay, fine: their voice.”

Madi’s eyes lit up. “I knew you could do it.”

“Come on, it’s hardly original. Everyone loves a deep/raspy voice.”

Madi opened her mouth, but then shut it quickly.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what was that?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“That’s not even slightly convincing, Madi.”

Madi was fiddling with a pencil, paying great attention to it and conveniently avoiding Clarke’s eyes. “So you had some of your old instagram stories saved...”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed; how much time _had_ Madi spent going through her social media?? “I had some stories saves, and...?” she prompted.

“I was just going to say that Lexa probably had a thing for deep voices too.”

“And this conversation is officially over!” Clarke exclaimed, pulling her laptop back into her lap. Madi chortled, and went contentedly back to her homework. They worked in companionable silence for a time, and then Clarke’s phone went off. She frowned at the number on the screen, recognizing it as her publisher at the magazine.

“Hey, Mads, I need to take this—”

Without looking up, Madi reached to the back of the couch, pulling Clarke’s jacket from where it had been draped, and handed it up to her. “People get sassy if you answer phone calls indoors.”

“What must it be like to deal with sassy people,” Clarke retorted, before taking the jacket and shrugging into it as she rushed towards the door of the coffee shop. She answered the phone just before it went to voicemail, ducking under someone’s arm as they held the door.

By the time her publisher finished informing her that the rough draft deadline was moved up by a week, that the reason for the accelerated timeline was an advertiser pulling out, that said advertiser had been flirting with only-digital content for months now and now the world was coming to an end, Clarke was pacing back in front of the coffee shop, switching her phone between hands and pulling the other up through the sleeve and into the coat with her, as the cold air was getting harder and harder to ignore as the sun dropped. As she paced, she methodically checked for Madi through the window, smiling slightly to see her dutifully hunched over her homework. Halfway through her bosses denunciation of the digital age, Clarke watched Madi switch from the orange folder to the green one, meaning she was done with the math homework and was ready for history. Clarke worried her bottom lip between her teeth; Madi had a hard time with dates, and she liked for Clarke to check her work. Sure enough, Madi’s brow furrowed and Clarke saw the pencil hover an inch away from the paper.

Her boss just wouldn’t shut up.

Clarke kept pacing, kept checking in, kept seeing Madi skip questions, and dig through her textbook to try to find answers. She turned from the window, running a hand through her hair and saying for the thousandth time, “Yeah, that’s completely unacceptable...”

Eventually, her boss paused for air, and Clarke jumped in, saying she’d have the draft in by the morning and they could work through all of this then. To her immense relief the call ended, and Clarke hung up before breezing back into the coffee shop.

“Sorry about that,” she said, entering a couple of reminders into her phone as she got closer to the couch, not bothering to look up. “There was an issue with the—”

“No worries,” Madi interrupted, and the cheeriness on her voice should’ve been a glaring sign of warning. “Bellamy’s been helping me.”

Clarke’s head snapped up, and her breath caught in her throat.

There was a man sitting on the end table next to the couch; he was holding Madi’s textbook and the History worksheet was actually half-filled out.

Clarke swallowed quickly, tamping down the initial feelings of panic. She’d stepped outside for twenty minutes, and she hadn’t even noticed when a man started to help her foster daughter with her homework. Never mind that he looked perfectly harmless, never mind that Madi was making great progress on her homework, the fact was that he was a veritable stranger.

“Um...” she started, before clearing her throat, needing her voice to not sound as shaken as it did.

“Use your words, Clarke,” Madi said quietly, amusedly, and the man stood up, holding out a hand.

“Sorry, I’m Bellamy,” he said, and Clarke’s breath caught again, for a completely different reason. There was the height difference. There was the spattering of freckles across his face. Speaking of his face, there was the strong jawline. And the adorable chin dimple. And very, _very_ nice eyes.

But that didn’t make it okay for him to be talking to Madi.

“Nice to meet you,” she said briskly, managing a polite smile and ignoring his hand, “But we’re on our way out.”

Madi blinked. “What? No we’re not. You have to finish your review—I’m guessing the deadline was moved up, and that’s what that whole call was about?—and I have to finish my homework.”

“Which we can do from the apartment, without any strangers,” Clarke said sharply, registering that they still had an audience just after the words came out. “No offense,” she muttered, and Bellamy had the gall to look amused.

Madi did not. “Clarke, seriously? What’s the big deal? He was just helping me with history; he’s a professor.”

“And I’m sure he’s a lovely one,” Clarke said evenly, giving Bellamy a smile that they both knew was completely plastic, “but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for a random man to help you with your homework.”

“I assume offense was meant that time,” Bellamy muttered, and Clarke shot him a glare before looking back at Madi, who crossed her arms defiantly.

“I asked him.”

Clarke stared. “You did what?”

“I asked him,” Madi said, like that made everything okay.

“And why,” Clarke tilted her head back to the ceiling, “ _why_ would you do that?”

“He was reading a book about mythology, so he seemed like the type of guy who might actually know something about all of this,” Madi waved her hand in a circle above her textbook, “Plus the whole cardigan and glasses look.”

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. “You asked someone to help you with homework...because of their reading and style choices?”

“It’s not like I’m hiding behind a dumpster, Clarke,” Madi said dismissively. “There are plenty of witnesses, and I just needed some help. See? Not a big deal.”

It was still a big deal, but Clarke didn’t feel like fighting it.

“Okay, not a big deal. Still, I’m sure we’ve taken up plenty of Bellamy’s,” she hesitated slightly as she said his name, absently thinking that it was a perfect name for him, “time.”

If he heard that for the cue that it was, he didn’t show it. “Not at all,” he said easily, sitting back down on the table. “It’s no trouble to finish the worksheet.”

Clarke tilted her head, her look pointed. “Isn’t it though?”

But he shook his head and just as Clarke was resigning herself to being outnumbered, when she caught it: the glint in his eye. He knew _exactly_ how flustered she was feeling, and was getting a kick out of it. She tilted her chin and grabbed her laptop off the table, opting to sit in the chairs across from the sofa rather than next to Madi, so she could keep both of them in her peripherals.

Not that she didn’t trust Bellamy.

On the contrary, that was what was disarming about the whole thing. Right from the start, she should’ve been livid at him, furious that some stranger was talking to her 12-year-old foster daughter like it was the most casual thing.

But.

There was something about him. He was so at ease with Madi; the way he was explaining her textbook to her was so effortless. It wasn’t the schtick that most men tried to pull, the ‘women like men who are good with kids; check out this picture of me and my second cousin’s niece’, it was genuine interaction. He wasn’t performing for an audience, he was just really good with her.

Clarke mentally shook herself.

Review. Gallery review. Due tomorrow morning. Focus.

But her eyes kept drifting over the top of her laptop, to admire the smile that played around Bellamy’s lips when Madi gave a snide remark, or the way he never handed her the answers, but prompted her for where to find them.

Due. Tomorrow.

But she couldn’t help eavesdropping, so she switched to editing what she’d already written, focusing with half her mind, the other part tuned in to the conversation on the couch. Madi was frustrated over a question, and Bellamy rubbed his jaw before speaking carefully.

“Okay, so let’s try it this way. What does it take for any of the ancient civilizations to survive?”

“I mean, a bunch of things...” Madi trailed off, and Clarke heard her gasp as she realized where Bellamy was leading her. “Oh! Rivers.”

“Yeah. So instead of trying to think which four were where, maybe think of the bodies of water nearby.”

“That’s so much easier,” Madi said with relief.

“Cool. So the rivers are?”

Madi tapped the map. “The Nile, the Indus, the Yellow River, or Euphrates/Tigris.”

“Good eye. But can you match them with any civilizations?

“Egypt, South Asia, China, Mesopotomia.”

“Mesopotamia, but so close,” Bellamy said, and Clarke glanced over the screen to see Madi smile broadly, bending over the notebook to write the answers on her paper. Unintentionally, Clarke’s eyes drifted over to Bellamy, only to find that his eyes were already on her.

They really were beautiful eyes. Soft and deep and brown, and holding a million questions and answers.

She held his gaze for a moment before she pursed her lips and looked down at her screen.

Just because he was the definition of a good samaritan (as well as the embodiment of a few other maxims; tall, dark and handsome, being the most glaringly obvious one) didn’t mean that she should pretend this was anything more than it was: a  kind stranger helping a kid with her homework, before slipping away into the Portland nighttime.

Clarke was just getting back into editing when she heard the snap of Madi closing the folder. She looked up, surprised. “Are you done already?”

“Yep,” Madi piped, looking quite pleased with herself. “Having a professor around is terribly convenient.”

“It is for us,” Clarke said, delicately. “Thanks so much for doing this, Bellamy. Can we get you a coffee or something on your way out?”

“Clarke!” Madi hissed, aghast.

Clarke mentally ran back her conversation, not finding anything to make Madi upset. “Yes?”

Madi rolled her eyes, turning to Bellamy. “I promise she didn’t mean that in the ‘don’t let the door hit you on your way out’ way that it sounded.”

Clarke blinked; she hadn’t considered that interpretation. “Oh! I definitely didn’t—”

Bellamy smiled and Clarke felt the force of it like she was staring into the actual sun. He waved a hand easily. “I knew what you meant. I am going to grab something, but honestly, it was my pleasure. Haven’t walked through Ancient Civs in a while.”

Clarke found herself wanting to smile back. “Well, we really appreciate it. What exactly are you a professor of?”

“Late Antiquities.”

Clarke tilted her head, and Bellamy laughed slightly.

“Sorry, I forget that doesn’t mean anything to people that aren’t entrenched in a history department, and actually see the light of day. The Roman Empire, basically.”

“Oh,” Clarke tried to say it lightly, but she was impressed. “You said that pretty casually, but Rome didn’t fall apart till the Middle Ages.”

“I don’t know if ‘fall apart’ is the right phrase...”

Clarke cocked an eyebrow, wishing she weren’t so competitive. The fact of the matter was that she usually helped Madi with her homework, and he didn’t know it, but he was pretty much challenging her turf. “Sorry. Would ‘a victory banquet ending with the last Roman Emperor being literally sawed in half’ be more accurate?”

Bellamy looked down at the ground, but she caught a glimpse of a different kind of smile on his face; he was definitely impressed, and Clarke tried not to dwell on how proud that made her feel. He shrugged slightly. “Depends on if you think Theoderic or Odoacer had claim for the throne.”

Clarke grimaced. “And that’s where I to tap out; I don’t remember who was who.”

Bellamy grinned. “Still. Not too many people know Roman history past centurians, or whatever Gladiator movie they just watched.”

Clarke shrugged. “There wasn’t a lot of fiction in my house, growing up.”

As soon as she said it, she felt like kicking herself. It usually took a third or fourth date to unlock her complicated family backstory.

Not that she was thinking about Bellamy and dates.

But he just nodded, like it was an extremely normal thing to say. Clarke realized that Madi was staring between the two of them, absolutely thinking about Clarke and Bellamy and dates.

“Well,” Clarke said quickly, to derail that particular train of thought, stepping aside from the table, clearing a path from Bellamy to the counter, “We’ll let you get that coffee, then.”

“Oh, right,” Bellamy said, reminded. “Um, do you want anything?”

Clarke looked down at her now-probably-freezing mug on the table, untouched since she’d choked on it earlier. “I’m good, but thank you. You’re the one who did us a favor here.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrowed at the table, but he didn’t comment on it, just stepping gracefully past her. Once he’d passed, Clarke circled around the table to pick up her bag from where it was still at the feet of the couch. Madi circled around the table to be across from her, and Clarke could feel the energy radiating off of her.

“So??” she asked expectantly.

“A needle pulling thread,” Clarke dodged and Madi rolled her eyes.

“Clarke. He just asked you for coffee.”

“He was being polite.”

“Nope. Helping me with my history homework was polite. Catching sight of you outside the window, trying—and failing, might I add—to casually ask how I knew you, and then sticking around? And then asking if you wanted to coffee?? Not being polite.”

Clarke chanced a glance up to the counter, where Bellamy was ordering. He looked over at that moment, and she was horrified to feel a blush creeping up her cheeks at being caught staring. “He asked about me while I was outside?”

Madi groaned. “Oh my god, you’re unbelievable. Clarke. He’s into you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“There’s a really easy to way to change that. You know what it takes to be a history professor?”

“A couple of Masters degrees and probably a PhD,” Clarke responded, “Why, are you considering that career path?”

“What? Ew, no,” Madi made a face, “I hate memorization. But no, what I was going to say was that it takes...”

She paused for dramatic effect, and Clarke waited.

“Confidence,” Madi finished with a flourish.

Yeah, she probably should’ve seen that coming. Before she could dignify it with a response, Madi was breezing on. “Loving something so much that you go to school for years and years and then stay at a school to teach other people? And then finding randos at a coffee shop to also teach? That’s like the definition of, to steal your words, knowing what you’re about and not needing anyone else’s approval.”

Clarke stared at her. “Remind me to not give you any more sound bites, if you’re just going to play them back to me. Seriously, Madi, I don’t think—”

“Oh, and what, you think just anyone would laugh at your Roman empire jokes?”

“Excuse you,” Clarke said with mock sincerity, “my jokes are a delight.”

Madi made a face. “That’s an opinion.”

“What’s another?”

Madi held out her fingers, counting off on them. “Humor and confidence; that’s two for five.”

Clarke shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I hope that’s a synonym for ‘absolutely right’.”

“It isn’t.”

“Clarke,” Madi crossed her arms, settling back on her heels. “Listen: thinks you’re funny—”

“I am funny.”

“Pretty fantastic hair,” Madi continued like she hadn’t heard Clarke. “Also, eyes. Don’t think I didn’t see you _getting lost in them_ ,” Madi finished dramatically, lifting her hand like she was swooning. She was so caught up in her antics that she didn’t notice how quickly the line was moving, or Clarke’s panicked expression.

“And I mean,” Madi shrugged, her hands settling on her hips, “If deep voices are what does it for you—”

“Madi,” Clarke said warningly, but she didn’t listen.

“Then he checks that box too. Eyes, humor, hair, confidence, voice; boom. He’s pretty much exactly, perfectly your type. ”

Clarke couldn’t decide which was worse: the fact that Madi wasn’t wrong, or the fact that Bellamy was back, coffee in hand, and he’d been _right_ over Madi’s shoulder and heard her last sentence. He looked torn between cracking up and fleeing, which Clarke figured was pretty fair.

“Good, Mads,” she muttered, closing her eyes and running a hand through her hair, knowing that there was no graceful exit from this.  

Bellamy’s voice cut through the cloud of mortification, “Um, it’s decaf.”

Clarke cracked an eye open. “What?”

“The coffee,” he said, and she realized he was holding a paper cup out to her, his voice betraying his amusement. She took it automatically, then looked down at it, processing what was happening.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, surprised.

Bellamy lifted his now-empty hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, an endearing gesture of uncertainty. “I just figured that since yours had been sitting there for a while, and the barista asked if you wanted a refill, and since it’s kinda late for espresso, I thought a decaf would be the right choice...”

He trailed off, eyes flicking around the coffee shop and Clarke tilted her head. How could one man be such an enigma? Nerdy enough to know truly obscure facts about Roman history, personable enough to help a random kid with her homework; thoughtful enough to buy a stranger coffee because hers was cold, empathetic enough to wonder if it was too much.

“Thank you,” she said, simply. The corners of his mount lifted slightly, and Clarke was amazed by how much his smile made her want to smile as well. He was about to say something, when Madi made a humming sound.

“Buying Clarke coffee is always the right choice,” she chirped, and both Clarke and Bellamy turned to her.

“Duly noted,” Bellamy said, nodding seriously. “I’m thinking of making a habit of it.”

Madi’s eyebrows rose. “That would be even righter.”

“More right,” Clarke corrected automatically, then realized it sounded like an affirmation. “I mean,” she stammered, “Grammatically, the comparative form of ‘right’ died out in the middle ages, and a ‘righter’ is a noun, like a justice warrior or—”

“He gets it, Clarke,” Madi sighed, giving Bellamy a long-suffering look. “Despite my better judgement, and yours too, probably, we all know you’re not hitting on him.”

Bellamy hid a laugh on a cough and Clarke glared at him, which didn’t help his coughing fit. Clarke refocused on Madi who was looking terribly unapologetic. She ran a hand through her hair again, regarding the girl. “This is what I get for letting you have sugar before dinner, isn’t it?”

“Basically,” Madi said cheerfully, “Clearly no one to blame but yourself.”

“Clearly,” Clarke muttered. “Alright, kid, that’s our cue. Let’s get you home, get you fed.”

Madi’s expression fell. “But—”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow and Madi’s mouth snapped shut. “Fine,” she muttered.

Clarke turned back to Bellamy, giving him a quick smile as she bent down to sweep her laptop into her bag. “Seriously, thanks for your help with her homework.”

He nodded automatically, but something like panic flashed behind his eyes. “Um, so you guys are headed out?”

“Let me again state the phrase, ‘against my better judgement’, just for the record,” Madi said snidely, and Clarke sighed.

“Don’t worry, the record’s got it.”

“Let me walk you to your car,” Bellamy blurted, and they both turned back to him.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—” Clarke demurred, before Madi interrupted.

“You can’t; we walked here.”

It was official; she was going to have to ground Madi.

“Well, then,” Bellamy picked up his coat from the back of his chair. “Looks like I’m walking you home.”

Clarke blanched. “It’s, like a mile.”

“Is that supposed to dissuade me?”

“It’s supposed to convince you not to walk two miles out of your way.”

“Clarke, it’s getting dark. And it’s cold, and I kept you guys here; you tried to leave forty minutes ago.”

He was right, but she barely processed it over the sound of her name falling off his lips, his deep voice saying it like it was easier than breathing. She didn’t remember introducing herself, but she guessed Madi had probably said it enough for him to make an educated guess.

“That really won’t be necessary,” she tried feebly, one last time.

“Come on,” Bellamy said, shrugging into his coat, and picking up hers, “I’m not the guy who does things out of necessity.”

He held her coat up to her, and Clarke narrowed her eyes before giving up, and letting him help her into it. “We’ll get you an uber from the apartment.”

“Okay, sure,” he said easily, and she didn’t miss the note of triumph, as well as the way that he clearly didn’t plan on letting her call him a car. She was about to respond, but he was already heading towards the door, holding it open. Clarke tucked her head against the cold, grateful for the warm coffee to curl her fingers around. They waited while Bellamy held the door for an older couple, then Clarke started them in the direction of their apartment.

“I’m going to walk ahead,” Madi said emphatically, “Out of ear shot but within the line of sight so I am well and taken care of—”

Clarke cut her off there. “Please, Madi, now isn’t the time to start being subtle.”

She had the grace to look slightly sheepish, but then she looked between the two of them and any regrets vanished. She all but skipped a few paces ahead of them, pulling her phone out and deliberately looking through it. For all of that, Clarke was pretty sure she was close enough to hear any conversation.

“She’s a smart kid.”

It was Bellamy who spoke first, and Clarke looked up at him, walking next to her, his eyes on Madi in front of them.

“I think precocious might be a better word.”

Bellamy let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah, that fits too.”

Clarke found herself smiling. “Nah, you’re right; she is smart. Clever, more like. Funny, too. And she means well, she does. She has such a big heart; she likes to look after people. Hasn’t quite figured out how to do it yet...”

“Does she get that from you?”

The implications were there, but Bellamy hadn’t asked it in a judgmental way; he was just curious. She appreciated it when people asked it that way, instead of just coming out and telling her Madi was too old to be her biological child.

She smiled softly as Madi made a show of dropping one of her gloves so that she could turn around and check on her and Bellamy. “From her real parents, I presume. They must’ve been pretty good people, for her to still be like this. Most kids in the system...” she broke off, shaking her head. “Most kids don’t have the light she has, you know?”

“Most kids don’t have a Clarke.”

Clarke looked up at him, a light blush creeping up her cheeks. “I can’t take credit for any part of how great Madi is.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would, but I had to try.”

She smiled at that. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, and this time it was Clarke who broke it. “So, riddle me this: A Late Antiquities professor comes to a coffee shop, for a leisurely afternoon, to catch up on some Greek Mythology.”

“As you do,” he interjected, good-naturedly.

“As one does, yes,” Clarke echoed, a smile on her voice. “And a random girl says ‘hey you. You look smart. Can you help with my homework?’ And he does. Why?”

“Do I have to answer in third person?”

Clarke stepped sideways and elbowed him, and Bellamy laughed lightly.

“Sorry,” he amended. “At the risk of sounding terribly cliche...she reminded me of my sister.”

Clarke nodded; that would explain why he was so at ease with Madi. “Is she in sixth grade?”

“Man, I wish,” Bellamy said shaking his head. “No, Octavia is about to graduate college.”

“Oh! Congratulations,” Clarke said reflexively, but she was glad she’d said it, when Bellamy’s smile stretched.

“Thanks. I’m proud of her. It’s weird though: when I think of her, I don’t think of this 22-year-old? I think of her back when I started college.”

“I have a friend like that. We were super close growing up, then his folks moved away...I always think of him as being this nerd who played chess and now he’s a corporate lawyer, like a full-blown adult.”

Bellamy smiled. “You ever play? Chess?”

“Wells made sure I knew how to, but we didn’t play much. I don’t like losing.”

“That surprises me exactly none.”

So maybe Madi was right: Clarke should probably be flirting with Bellamy.

Because she smiled pretty much the whole walk home, enjoying the sound of Bellamy’s voice, his light sarcasm, the way he was always mindful of where Madi was. It was nice. Really nice.

All too soon, Madi came back to them, asking for Clarke’s purse so she could get the keys to the apartment. Clarke gave her the whole bag, as well as her empty coffee cup, and Madi jogged the rest of the block and up the front steps of the apartment. She and Bellamy slowed their steps as they came to a stop in front of it, and Clarke pretended not to notice the crack in the blinds that Madi wasn’t even trying to disguise herself behind.  

“Thanks for walking us,” Clarke said, trying not to cringe at how lame it sounded. “And for the coffee. And helping Madi out with her homework. All the things, basically.”  

“No problem.”

“Bellamy,” she said, lifting a hand to his arm to turn him towards her. They were both surprised by the contact, and she pulled her hand back almost immediately. “Let me say, thanks, okay? I mean it.”

He stared at her for a while in the fading light, his eyes traveling curiously over her face. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly, a slight dip of his chin that showed he understood. “You’re welcome.”

Clarke felt a smile tease the corners of her mouth again, and she nodded right back. “Okay, good. Because Madi and I...we can be a lot.”

“In a good way?”

Clarke tilted her head. “In a even-though-I-just-met-you-let-me-shamelessly-push-my-foster-mom-towards-you kind of way.”

Bellamy smiled, his eyes crinkling. “In her defense, it sounded like some pretty sound logic.”

Clarke’s mouth opened in surprise; she hadn’t known how closely he’d been listening. “Did it now?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning back slightly, his eyes still smiling for him. “I think the words were: pretty much exactly, perfectly your type.”

Clarke knew they were well past the point where that should embarrass her, but still she flushed. “Come on, she’s 12, she’s gotta have something to be dramatic about.”

“So you’re saying I’m not?”

“Don’t push for compliments.”

He smiled broadly. “So you’re saying I am?”

“I’m plied with good coffee; I’ll say a lot of things.”

“Would you say yes to dinner?”

He hadn’t missed a beat; Clarke’s breath caught and she looked up at him. His eyes were on the her face and there is was again, written on his face, the enigma of dichotomy. Humor from their rapport, nerves that she wouldn’t say yes.

Like she could possibly do that.

“Yeah,” she said softly, smiling around the word. “I’d say yes.”

“You would?”

“I would,” she said, more firmly this time, before deciding to push him a little bit. “But, I don’t think I was officially asked.”

“Oh that’s how this is going to be?”

Clarke grinned broadly. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

Bellamy was still smiling, but he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth as he looked at her. Shrugging lightly, he sighed and took a step towards her, so Clarke had to tilt her head back to look up at him. She lifted her chin, trying to regain some semblance of authority, like his proximity wasn’t completely messing with her mind. Which had gone suspiciously hazy.

She saw him shift slightly, and then she felt a light touch on her forehead. The back of his fingers glanced across her forehead and down the side of her face, brushing her hair behind her ear and resting just at the end of her cheek. It was a simple gesture; in another world, it was an innocent one. But here, now, Clarke couldn’t remember how to breathe. His touch felt like fire on her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his eyes, and it was as if everything in the world faded around them. All she could think, all she could see, all she could breathe, was him, and she never wanted it to stop.

After a moment, he cleared his throat slightly, letting his hand fall. “That’s how I felt,” he said, his voice impossibly low and close to her, “since I saw you outside the coffee shop. Like...my heart couldn’t beat fast enough, like air wasn’t the thing my lungs needed. I needed to know it was that way for you, too.”

His words washed over her and Clarke stored each one, knowing she’d be playing them over and over again in her mind. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, which were suddenly dry. “And are you convinced?” she asked, shocked by the huskiness of her own voice, and was rewarded by another gorgeous smile.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “Yeah, you could say that.”

It was impossible.

To be this close to him, to be so fully wrapped up by him, and not touch him. Her fingers all but itched to feel his hair, count his freckles, trace his jawline, and she clenched them at her sides. “So?”

“So, get dinner with me,” he said it in a rush, running a hand through his hair and hunching his back slightly so he could look at her directly. “Hell, get lunch or coffee or breakfast or drinks, anything, with me. Whenever, whatever, just something with me. Please. I have to see you again.”

It was a jumble of words, a rush of them tripping over his tongue and spilling out of his mouth and Clarke had never heard such a beautiful landslide. She couldn’t help the smile that split her face and she beamed up at him. “Okay,” she said, not caring about the breathlessness on her voice.

He let out a deep breath, and his shoulders drooped slightly as he stood. “Really?”

A laugh escaped before Clarke could stop it. “What do you mean really? I told you I’d say yes, didn’t I?”

He laughed then too, a little sheepish, but it didn’t seem like he cared too much. “I guess you did.”

She was still smiling and she reached for her phone, before remembering it was in the purse that Madi took inside. “Um, I was going to give you my number, but my kid took my phone...”

Bellamy reached into his jacket pocket, then made a face, before reaching inside his coat. “I never bring mine with me when I plan on reading...this is the best I’ve got?”

He pulled a pen out of nowhere, and Clarke took it. “You wouldn’t happen to have paper, would you?”

He hesitated, clearly not having thought of that. “Uh, no. But you could write it in the book?”

He held the book out to her, something about mythology, and as Clarke opened it, she noticed how pristine it was, not an edge worn or a page dog-eared. She shook her head, handing it back to him, even as his brow lowered in confusion.

“I’m not about to deface your book, you bibliophile,” she teased, and when he went to take it back, her fingers reached for his free hand. Her touch was hesitant, and she looked down at the hand she held in both of hers.  

His hand was much larger than hers, and she traced a delicate pattern over the tan, rough skin of his fingers. Glancing back up, she smiled lightly; his eyes were on their joined fingers, and her heart warmed at the expression of wonder on his face. Looking back down, she tested the pen on the back of her wrist, then flipped his hand over, pausing slightly before writing nine numbers along the heartline in the middle of his palm. She finished, clicked the pen shut, and folded his fingers over the numbers. She turned the pen around, handing it back to him, and released his hand.

“No books were harmed in the exchanging of numbers,” she said softly.

He blinked, reaching for the pen like he was on autopilot. Clarke pursed her lips, admiring the expression still resting on his face.

“Um,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll text you? So you have mine?”

“That sounds good, yeah.”

There wasn’t anything else to say, but they stood there, in the cold night air, just beaming at each other. Eventually, Clarke remembered they had an audience, and she tilted her head towards the door.

“I should probably head in...”

“Right, yeah, of course,” he said immediately, but neither of them moved.

Clarke bit her lip, looking up at him. “It was nice to meet you, Bellamy Blake.”

“And you, Clarke,” he said simply, then he frowned. “You never told me your last name.”

She realized she hadn’t. “It’s Griffin.”

“Of course it is.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes darting to her hair. “ _Flecked with drops of gold like sparks, eyes glowing with fire; in strength and swiftness, she rivals the wind_.”

Clarke felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck and she shoved her hand in her pockets. It was so cliche, to be flustered by poetry, but here she was. “What’s that?”

“Some ancient Greeks, bewitched by a gryffin.”

She ducked her head. So apparently there was no middle ground between disbelief that she’d go out with him and quoting ancient poetry at her.

“For the sake of academic integrity,” he said, some of the intensity in his voice giving way to amusement. “I should admit that the rest of the passage is about claws and talons and jaws that could rend any mortal to pieces...”

Clarke laughed. “Then I guess you’d better stay on my good side.”

He smiled lazily. “Well, that’s the plan.”

Clarke shook her head, looking over the shoulder up to the apartment. “I really should go,” she said, reluctantly.

“Okay. I’ll text you once I get your number in my phone.”

“Sounds good. Goodnight, then, I guess.”

“Goodnight.”

She couldn’t put it off anymore, and with a final smile, she headed up the stairs.

Inside the apartment, Clarke leaned against the door, a smile lingering on her face. She lifted a hand to her head, tracing the line he’d drawn across her forehead.

Madi was on an ottoman in the living room, sitting a suspicious distance from the still-cracked blinds on the window, and Clarke pulled off her jacket, hanging it in the closet by the door.

“How’s the book, Mads?”

“It’s good, really interesting.”

“That so?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. And just when did you learn to read upside down?”

Clarke dodged the pillow that was thrown her way, running into the kitchen. She busied herself making dinner for the two of them, but the smile never left her face, and thoughts of a dark-haired, kind-eyed professor were never far from her mind.   

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Ohhh but this was fun to write. Give me dorky/flirty Bellamy and flustered/flattered Clarke ANY day of the week. Add sassy Madi who cracks herself up and this is what you get. The poetry that Bellamy quotes is actually a combination of three different Greek historians and also me (same level of academia, clearly, right??). I'm always surprised that no one does anything with Clarke's surname, so this was my chance and I took it haha. You know I love comments; leave me one?


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